


Summer From The Night

by buttcat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Curtain Fic, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Castiel/Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Outsider, Post-Hell Sam, SUPER vague references to child abuse, self-indulgent nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2350859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttcat/pseuds/buttcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam made it back from Hell, but he's not entirely there. He and Dean settle in Willow, Michigan - not that they're retired, per se, just, you know, taking a vacation. To recoup, until Sam's better. Yeah.<br/>And then they meet the neighbors. And then Cas shows up. And there is book club and hair-braiding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this story began as a stupid drabble and i didnt think i was going to finish it let alone post it
> 
> welp
> 
> i legit had a fun time writing this silly thing and i hope you have a fun time reading it, too.

It happens like this: one day there is no one living in the house opposite, and the next there's a big red SOLD sticker plastered on the realtor's sign and a huge, shiny-black car in the driveway. Yuna's a little afraid of the car, actually. It's big and grumbly and sometimes she feels like it's watching her (which is silly, because cars aren't alive, but that's what it feels like all the same).  

She likes the house, though. It's got a wrap-around porch with white rails and a swinging bench seat, and it's got a bunch of smallish windows with flower boxes underneath. When she thinks about growing up, she pictures herself living in this house.

Even though _she_ knows it's the greatest house in the world, no one's lived in it since before she was born. She can't remember anyone else in the neighborhood moving in or out of their own homes, actually, like the street had been stuck in stasis the moment she was born.

So it's pretty exciting when her mom grabs her hand and lugs her across the street to greet their new neighbors. 

Yuna's prepared to dislike them, because they're living in  _her_ house. She was supposed to grow up and become a doctor and live there, right across the street from her mom so they could still have movie night and bake stuff together. It was practical and it was destiny probably and it was _hers._

Which is why she glares at the guy who opens the door. 

She regrets it right away because he's  _huge,_ oh my God. He's taller than her mom and her mom's the tallest person she knows, taller than all the other moms, especially when she's wearing heels. She's wearing heels right now actually, nubby sandal things, and the new neighbor guy is still a head and a half taller than her. He's broad, too, thick in the shoulders and chest.

Yuna looks at him and then back at the car in the driveway and decides, yes, that's the sort of car this guy would drive. They belong together.

She tries to shuffle back a little but her mom won't let her. She's not scared at all, which is something Yuna loves about her. She's not afraid of anything, ever, not spiders or storms or getting hurt or angry people yelling at them. Not only is she the tallest mom but she's the bravest, too.  

Except right now though Yuna's wishing her mother wasn't quite so brave, because she's tugging her forward closer to this guy and oh man, she wants to go home. 

"I'm Joo-Eun," her mom's saying. "We live across the street in number 10."

"Uh. Hi, June," the guy says. Her mom doesn't correct him, which is surprising, because usually when people screw up her name she tells them right off. She must really like him, Yuna realizes. She couldn't imagine why. 

Her mom hands off the platter she'd carried over - cookies, oatmeal - and gives him her best smile. "Welcome to Willow," she says.

"Uh, thanks. Thank you, Sam'll love these. He's my - my brother, Sam. I'm Dean," he adds. 

"There's a potluck next Friday - it'd be great to have you join, if you'd like. Get to know the neighbors. And I'd love to meet Sam, too, sometime." 

"Yeah, maybe. He likes that kinda sh- stuff. Stuff." He coughs and then drops into a crouch, so suddenly that Yuna's not able to startle back in time. They're eye-to-eye now, his face right up close to hers and  _huh, freckles._ "Hey there," he says. "What's your name?"

"Yuna," she mumbles into her mom's hand.

"Oh, yeah? Cool. I don't think I've ever met anyone called Yuna before." 

"No one else?" says Yuna.

"Nope. You're the first and only." He winks at her and as much as she'd wanted to dislike him before, she can't help but giggle a little, smile into her mom's bony wrist.

"Dean," someone wails inside the house. It's a man's voice, charred and crinkled like old wallpaper, dry and sad.

Dean's face ages about ten years, his brow creased with worry, his bright smile gone flat.

"I have to - my brother," he says and straightens up. He's huge and distant again, dark and sad about the eyes. "It was great meeting you. See ya later, Yuna. June."

They say goodbye and he's gone, door shut behind him. Inside the house, distant and tinny as if through the neck of a bottle, they hear him yell, "you okay, Sammy?"

Yuna and her mom wander back across the street hand-in-hand.   

"Damn charmer, that one," her mom says, smiling.

Yuna remembers his drawn face and, quietly, privately, disagrees. 

 

The next time Yuna sees Dean he is sitting on the porch swing with a tall, skinny man perched next to him. Dean is reading aloud from a book. 

She's actually a little happy to see him because, well, she's curious. She thinks her mom is, too, which is why they've gravitated up Dean's walkway.

"Dean!" her mother calls, and Dean's head swings up. 

"Hey! June!" he says. He sounds very tired but he looks happy to see them.  

Yuna's mom strides up to him. He starts to stand but she waves him away, pressing one of her fliers into his hands. "For the potluck," she explains. 

"Cool, thanks," Dean says. He scrubs at his eyes. "Hey, there, Yuna. How're you doing?"

"Okay," says Yuna.

"Just okay? Shouldn't you be in school?"

"It's _summer,_ Dean," she informs him. Dean is not very smart. 

"You sure about that?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"If you say so. This is Sam, by the way," Dean says, waving at the gaunt guy sitting next to him.

"Hi, Sam," her mom says. 

Sam just stares. 

"He says hi back," Dean tells them, except this has to be a lie, because Sam hasn't moved or even blinked. 

"Is he okay?" Yuna asks. (" _Yuna!"_ her mother scolds.)

"He's - I don't know," Dean says, radiating misery. "I don't know."

"Oh, Dean," Yuna's mom says, and rests a slender hand on his shoulder.

He shrinks away from her. "It's okay, really," he says, except it's not okay, and Sam looks very sick. She imagines looking after a brother all alone, cooking for him and changing his sheets and giving him trash cans to barf in, and decides that it'd be really awful. _Where's Dean's mom?_ she wonders. Looking after sick kids is a mom's job - that's what _her_ mom does, anyway - and just because Dean's huge and grown-up looking doesn't mean he doesn't need a mom to look after him.  

 

Her mom won't tell her what's wrong with Sam ("I don't know, baby, don't pry,") so Yuna decides to go to the source and ask Dean outright. She gets her chance the next day when she's pulling her wagon around on her driveway and he comes out to sit on the porch, glass bottle in hand.

She takes the wagon with her because otherwise it might wheel into the street and get hit by a car. He spots her right away and steps down off his porch to go to her before she can get much past his mailbox. 

"Uh. Yuna?"

She ignores him and walks right by. The wagon rattles up and down on the bumpy stone walkway.

"Are you okay?" he asks. He's hovering over her, not-quite-touching her with his big, calloused hands.

"I'm fine," she sings. She contemplates dragging her wagon up the steps but decides against it and sits on the bottom one instead. He sits next to her, legs wide and long next to her little tan ones. She squishes the side of her foot up to his.

"You've got big feet."

"Nuh-uh. You just have tiny ones."

She kicks in the dirt. "Does Sam have big feet?"

"Sam has big everything," Dean grunts. 

"How come he's sick?" 

Dean is quiet for a while. She doodles invisible pictures with her toes: a sun, a smiley face, the letters of the alphabet. She gets to g before Dean says anything.  

"Sam's been through some... things. Some real bad things."

"Like what?"

"Like, real bad. Like you shouldn't oughta think about," he says. Yuna tries to picture Real Bad Things and remembers, in order: her friend Hanna breaking her arm falling from the monkeybars, her dog getting hit by a car last year, and - oh. Eric.

"Did someone hit him?" she asks.

"Uh. Yeah, kinda. They hit him a lot, and he couldn't get away."

"Oh. That musta been awful." She thinks about how her mom was because of Eric, limp and sad and scared all the time, and imagines being stuck like that. Not getting away. Would her mom be like Sam if they hadn't made Eric go? Would _she_ be like Sam? 

Dean must have caught the flavor of her thoughts because he wraps an arm around her shoulders and squeezes her into his side. He smells like cigarette smoke and dry leaves and old leather. "Don't worry about it, kiddo. It's okay. He's safe now."

But he's still sick. "He'll get better," she says, both for herself and him. 

"Yeah. He'll get better."

 

 The next day her mom's friend Ms. Bole comes over and Yuna's not  _trying_ to eavesdrop, not really, but she's in the living room and they're talking pretty loud and it's not her fault if she catches on. If they really wanted to keep secrets they should've gone into mom's bedroom and shut the door, but instead they're sitting at the kitchen table where anyone could hear them, so it's actually their fault.

"Poor kid," Ms. Bole is saying. "Not... all there, y'know. But that's what war does, huh?"

"War? You think?"

"I mean, they  _look_ like soldiers. I saw the older one go out for a jog yesterday when I was doing yoga, maybe five in the morning - " (here Yuna's mother makes gagging noises) "- in nothing but shorts and a t-shirt and  _let me tell you - "_

There is the sound of newspaper hitting flesh. Ms. Bole yelps.

"You are _engaged,_ Lee."

"It's not a crime to look. He's hot for sure, though - stop _hitting me,_ woman - but the cincher is he's _covered_ in scars. Like, all over. I'd betcha a hundred bucks the brother's the same."

"And you think -?"

 "How else?"

"Plenty of jobs can be rough, right? Like - I don't know, construction."

"Yeah, but who comes out of construction like... _that?"_

Yuna knows. Someone who's been hit, a lot, and kept on getting up anyway. She thinks her mom ought to have caught on, since she's got marks of her own: a little faded starburst on her temple where a book broke her skin, white crooked tissue on her forearms and hands from a beer bottle - but instead she's talking about construction workers and soldiers and farmers instead of getting the actual point.  

It's a good feeling, to know something her mom doesn't. She's _better friends_ with Dean than her mom, she realizes with a small thrill. She doesn't think that's ever happened with a grown-up before. Dean trusted her with Sam's story, and she's going to keep it safe for him. She's not telling. 

 

Dean's got his hand resting on Sam's knee as he digs up weeds. 

"You planting something?" she says. 

"Your momma know where you are?" he says, without turning around.

" _Yes,_ Dean. She's on the porch, see?"

"All right. We're planting daisies," he adds. He doesn't seem very happy about it. 

"Sorry," she says, because it seems appropriate. 

"We'll get over it, right, Sammy? Sam's a giant girl, you know," he says conspiratorially. "He  _loves_ flowers. Flowers and kittens and sparkly tiaras." 

"Me too, Sam," she says. 

"You two should play together sometime. Dress-up."

"Yeah, okay."

"Hear that, Sammy? If you don't move, Yuna's gonna drag your huge - uh - behind over to her house and play princesses."

She thinks maybe he's making fun of her but then Sam reaches up and takes her hand, all on his own, and wow, he's got big hands. He can wrap his entire hand around hers no problem at all. He's not looking at her but his skin is warm and dry and kind, and she stays there watching Dean garden with her hand tucked in his until the sun's gone pink in the sky. 

"You better get back to your mom, kiddo," Dean says finally, turning, and then he sees her hand in Sam's and his mouth falls open just a little.

 "It's not that late," she says.

"I - no, it's -  _huh_."  

"Sammy, I gotta go now," she tells Sam, and he lets her hand swing free. Dean makes a choked noise. "Can I give him a kiss goodnight?" she asks, because that's what her mom does and it always makes her feel better.

"Uh - yeah, sure, Yuna," Dean says.

She leans over and plants a careful peck on Sam's temple. "You too, Dean," she says, and catches him on the cheek before he can get away. "See you tomorrow," she says, and runs, and doesn't look back.  

 

And then she walks in on him doing magic.

It happens like this: Dean does not come to the potluck. Yuna's mom is not pleased and sends Yuna across the street to _drag him out, by his hair if you have to, and get the tall one too._ And Yuna goes, primed and ready for some hair-pulling action, and when nobody answers the door at her knock it seems prudent to open it up and wander in. 

There's no furniture, she notices right away. Not even a couple chairs. She hopes they have a bed at least. There's an odd smell in the air, not unpleasant but musky and dark, like burnt incense. She passes through the kitchen and it's pretty clean, no dirty dishes hanging around or anything, and then she goes into the living room and there's Dean shirtless and drawing on the floor with red chalk. He's got a bunch of books open next to him on the floor and they've got weird diagrams and stuff, images of plants, bisections of an eye, wings.  

"Oh, shit," says Dean. "Uh. I can explain." 

Except he doesn't have to, because she sees the hand-shaped scar on his shoulder and the charm and the weird letters, and it all comes together at once.

"You're a _superhero,"_ she says. "A _wizard superhero."_         

Dean puts down the chalk. "You got me," he says.  

"I  _knew it._ Is Sam a superhero, too? Was it super-bad-guys that hurt him?"

Dean is smiling. "Yeah. Two of 'em. They wanted to blow up the planet, but Sam stopped 'em." 

" _Wow._ Sam's  _amazing."_

"Yeah. He really is." 

"Tell him I said thanks. For saving everyone."

"Why don't you tell him yourself?" Dean offers, and she guesses Sam'd been there the entire time, because suddenly he's looming up behind Dean from the dark.

Yuna'd forgotten just how tall he was, hollowed-out and stretched thin like a midday shadow against pavement. He's still pretty pallid but his eyes are bright and kind, alert, and she feels like he's really looking at her for the first time.

"Hi, Sam," she says, nervous. She's seen Sam before and even talked at him a few times but right here and now it _feels_ like they're meeting for the first time, and so she says, "I'm Yuna," just in case he doesn't remember.

"Hey," says Sam, and his voice is not at all what she'd expected. She figured he'd sound like Dean, sorta gruff and short, maybe somehow even deeper because he's such a huge guy, but actually Sam's voice is higher and more nasal than his brother's. It hasn't got any of the good-natured gravel running through it the way Dean's does, either. 

She reaches up for Sam's hand, and he gives it to her. She likes how enormous it is, how ridiculous his fingers look against hers. His hands are pretty beat up, she notices, and she wonders if that's one of the side effects of being a superhero. He's got dirt under his nails and his knuckles are worn thick with callouses. 

"Thank you for saving the world," she tells him. "I'm sorry you got hurt."

Sam drops to his knees and Yuna's worried - did she hurt him? is he okay? - and then his giant lanky arms are folded around her and she's being smooshed into his chest, and she can feel his eyes are wet against her cheek. She catches Dean's eyes over the top of Sam's head and she's glad to see Dean doesn't look anxious at all, just sorta exasperated and fond and teary all at once, so she figures everyone's okay. She pets a tentative hand through Sam's hair.  

"It was worth it," Sam is saying. "It was worth it."  

 She forgets to ask them to the potluck. Her mom is not happy. 

 

The next day she goes over to Dean's right after breakfast. Her mom insists on going too, probably because of the potluck thing. This is too bad because Yuna really, _really_ would like to talk about superhero stuff with Dean, and Sam, too, if he wants, but she'd already promised herself to keep Dean's secrets, and that includes talking about super powers in front of her mother.  

When he opens the door she notices right off there's a brush in his hand, sticky with congealing red paint. He's covered up to his forearms with smears of green and blue and red and orange and he's the happiest she's ever seen him.  

"Are you  _painting?"_ she asks, trepidation gone in an instant.

"Yeah, we're doing Sam's bedroom," Dean says.

"Can I help?" 

"I don't know if -" her mom begins.

"Yeah, c'mon!" Dean says. He looks up at Yuna's mom. "Unless, I mean, you don't want...?"

Her mom runs a critical eye over her daughter. "Go ahead, baby," she sighs.

"Yessss," says Yuna, and darts into the house, Dean and her mother on her heels.

"Upstairs," says Dean, and they go, clamoring up the steps. Yuna gets to the top first - "hang on there, Forrest," Dean teases her - and turn into the room on the left and there's Sam, long tan legs sprawled out in front of him, goofy smile on his face. He's  _covered_ in paint. Yuna thought Dean had been bad, but Sam's got paint on his neck and cheeks and ankles. He's got paint in his hair.   

"Oh my God, Sam - " her mother says.

"You look really handsome!" Yuna says, and slides in next to him. She grabs a paintbrush out of the plastic water cup they've got set up on the floor for rinsing.

"Yeah?" says Sam.

"Uh-huh," she says. "Like a rainbow."

Sam's grinning huge and glad and he's got a spark in his eyes she can't remember seeing before.

"Huh," her mom says behind them.

"Yeah, I know. I woke up this morning and he was really, just, happy," Dean begins, and then he's speaking in earnest to her mom, but Yuna misses the rest of it, because she's very busy explaining the right colors for a rainbow to Sam.   

 

Yuna's mom is dumping their old coffee table out on the curb. They've got a new one, without crayon marks and chipped edges and wobbly legs.

Yuna doesn't like that they're throwing it away. The table's been in her living room since she was a baby, and she's chewed on it and colored on it and sat on it. Once she hid under it when her mom and Eric were having a fight and Eric started throwing stuff. She and the table have a history together, so it's sensible that she's a little sentimental towards it. Plus it's not even broken or anything, just a little dinged up. 

She looks at the coffee table, and then at the big black car in Dean's driveway, and then at the porch where he isn't sitting, and she gets the most brilliant and charitable idea she thinks she's ever had. 

"Mom!" she yells, running over. " _Mom!"_

"Uh-huh?" her mom says.

"Mom. We should  _give the coffee table to Dean."_

"Baby," her mom says, pursing her lips. "I don't think Dean wants our old coffee table." 

"'S perfect! Dean doesn't have a coffee table and we have an extra one and moo-ooom - " 

"We can't offer him our trash, honey."

"Not trash. I'm gonna ask him," she says, and scurries off. Her mom is somewhere behind her going  _no, no, Yuna, NO_ but she gets across the street and up the steps and rings the doorbell and now it's too late because Dean's opening the door. 

He peers out, mug of coffee in one hand. He looks scruffier than usual. He's got on one of those white tank tops guys wear and plaid pajama bottoms, and no socks, and his hair is flattened down around his face. "Hng," he says.  

"Dean we're throwing out our old coffee table and - " she raises her voice over her mother's - " _and we would like to know if you would like to have it -"_

Yuna's mom is blushing and stammering. "I'm sorry - it's just she gets these ideas in her head, and - "

"Naw, actually, I'd be glad to take it," Dean says. He looks a little more awake now. 

"I  _told you,_ " Yuna says. Her mom gapes.

Dean looks uncomfortable but he opens up the door a little more, and that's probably good. "I mean, unless you don't want me to take it, June - "

"Uh," says Yuna's mother - 

"We could just - we could use, you know. A table. In general." 

The embarrassment and wrath has drained from her mother's eyes and now she's looking at Dean like he's a stray kitten. "No, of course - you should've said, if you needed furniture. I've got these friends - "

And now they're talking about her mom's friends and Yuna doesn't care about that stuff so she takes it upon herself to go back across the road, snag the front two legs of the coffee table, and start pulling it across the street. It is not easy going. A car pulls to a stop next to her and honks its horn.

Suddenly strong arms are lifting both her and the coffee table right off the ground.

"Dean, I was  _doing it,"_ she tells him.

"I saw," he says. He rucks the table underneath his one arm and uses the other one to seat her on his shoulder. He's put her on the one opposite of the peculiar hand-shaped scar he's got on his left. She traces it with a finger and he shivers underneath her. 

"Are you retired?" she asks.

"Yuna!" her mom scolds from the porch.

"I don't mind," Dean says. "Naw, not retired. Just resting until Sammy's better."

"So you'll be going back to...?" her mom says, which Yuna thinks is a much ruder and prying-er question than the one she'd asked.

"Yup," says Dean.

Yuna's mom looks put out, because this is not the answer she wanted. "A tour?" she prompts. This is silly even for her mother, because Dean is pretty obviously not, nor has he ever been, a tour guide.

"Something like that," Dean says. "Thank you," he adds. He's rubbing the back of his neck. "For the table. I 'preciate it."

"Any time," her mom says, and smiles. 

 

"I don't want you to go back," she says, later.

 Dean blows out a long breath. "I don't got a choice, sweetheart," he says. "There's people that need saving."

" _Let someone else do it,"_ she says, because this is the obvious answer. 

"There ain't no one else," Dean says. "Not anymore."

She frowns at him, doesn't ask, _what happened?_  "You could teach me," she offers instead. 

" _No,"_ Dean chokes. "Never. Never ever, you got it?"

"Yeah, okay," she says. She doesn't want to be a superhero anyway, if it means getting hurt like Sam. Speaking of which.

"How's Sam?" 

"He's good. Real good. He paints a lot." 

"Can I see?" 

"You'd have to ask him yourself."

"Where is he? I wanna talk to him."

"Let me see if he's up to it, hang on."

Sam is up to it. He is _very_ much up to it, she notices. He looks well-rested and he's gained a little weight, a little color in his cheeks. His hair is getting very long and she makes sure to tell him, and Dean laughs and teases him ("I told you so!"), and Sam sticks up his middle finger at him. (Yuna copies him after, to see if she can do it. She finds it's actually kinda hard to raise a single finger at a time. Sam goes "no no no _no Yuna no"_ and Dean says "that's my girl" but also not to show her mother, please.) 

Every now and then Sam laughs low and cheerful, and she can't help but giggle along with him. She pokes her index fingers into his dimples. The sun is hot and bright and feels good against her skin, comforting, and she thinks it's warming Sam in the same calm way because he's sprawled out in the prickly, dying grass, his legs splayed open and his arms slack. He lies down and doesn't let Yuna sit on his stomach, but he's okay with her hands petting through his hair. They fall asleep in the grass like that.   

 

She doesn't want her mom to worry so she leaves as soon as it starts getting dark. At her front door, there's a white envelope shoved into the crack. She grabs it out and wanders inside. It hasn't got an address, or even a name, but she can feel layers of paper inside. She opens it.

"Baby! I didn't see that you were home," her mom says right next to her ear. Yuna jumps. "Let me just - that's mine," she adds, and tugs the envelope out of Yuna's hands. "You see any more of these, you bring them right to me, okay? Okay," and she's gone, up the hall and into her bedroom with the door shut tight. 

"You really like Sam and Dean, huh?" her mom asks her later, doing dishes in the sink. 

"Uh-huh," Yuna says. "We're friends." 

"They seem like nice guys. But even so, baby, you gotta be careful, okay?"

"Uh-huuuh."

"I'm serious, Yuna. If they ever make you uncomfortable you get out of there and call me right away, okay? And you stay out in the yard where I can see you."

"Yee-eess, mom," 

"You  _stay outside._ If they invite you in, say no." 

"I'll say no."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Her mom stops accompanying her over to the neighbor's house. Yuna thinks partially it was because she was coming to trust them but also because all the strict supervision was cutting into her soap-opera-watching-time.

Yuna is glad to be rid of her mother because this means she can ask superhero questions without breaking her promise. For instance: 

"Dean. Can you read people's minds?"

Dean seems to think this is very funny. "Naw, Yuna, sorry. That's more Sam's department."

" _Sam can read minds?_ Sam. What am I thinking about."

Sam looks a little freaked out, which is understandable, because if you can  _read minds_ it'd probably be something you wanted to keep under wraps.

"Don't worry, Sam, I won't tell," she says. "Not even my mom." 

"You promise?" he says.

"Promise," she agrees. 

Sam nods and then scrunches up his face kinda weird. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're thinking that... Dean smells funny - "

_"Am not!"_

"And he's getting fat off your mom's cooking,  _really_ fat - "

"I swear Dean that's not what I'm thinking I  _promise - "_

"And he's not even half as cute as he thinks he is, but you're too nice to tell him otherwise - "

"All right, bitch, you asked for it," Dean's growling, and then - oh,  _wow -_ he  _pounces_ on Sam, and they're scuffling in the grass, and Yuna has to jump back to get her toes out of the way. She is worried for a moment but they're both grinning and laughing like crazy, and Dean lets Sam flip him over and pin his arms behind his back.

"Say uncle, jerk," Sam says.

"Okay, jeez, uncle. Geddoff, bigfoot, you're smothering me here."

They roll apart, still laughing. Dean claps his brother on the shoulder.  

They are the goofiest pair of superheroes on the planet, and she loves them. 

 

Yuna isn't worried about Sam anymore.

"It's book club," her mom says. "Don't get underfoot. Go to your room. Yuna! Did you hear me? Stay out of the living room - " 

And oh my God, Dean is sitting huge and hulking and out-of-place between two tiny wrinkled little  _halmoni,_  who are sipping coffee and speaking a mile a minute. Dean's eyes are flicking back and forth between them as they chatter, cupping his mug like it's a fragile teacup and not a hulking white monstrosity with a bunch of ugly, misshapen tabbies printed on the side. She is only picking out about one word in ten from the halmoni, but they are absolutely talking about how handsome Dean is. She hears them say  _kyeolhon-a_ , marriage, more than once.

Also in the room are all the ladies from her mom's church group, a couple aunties, Ms. Bole and Elizabeth-The-Babysitter, and, incongruously, Sam, who is sitting quiet and content in an armchair to the side. He's got a book in his lap and a tiny, secretive smile on his face.

She's surprised he's brought a book, actually. Even  _she_ knows that "book club" is code for "sit around and gossip about the neighbors and brag about our children". The halmonidon't even know enough English to get through an entire book anyway. But there's Sam with his book and his smile, oblivious and ready to talk literature.

Dean just looks plain terrified. 

_"Yuna",_  he says, relieved. "Are you gonna sit in?"

She shrugs. "Mom'll kick me out soon."

"Oh," he says, disappointed, and isn't  _that_ an ego booster. 

"Maybe I can stay," Yuna allows. 

"Please," Dean says. "I haven't even read the book. I'm just here 'cuz of Sam."

"He looks happy," she says.

"He would, the giant nerdo. He reads for  _fun."_

"My favorite book is Harry Potter," she tells him.

"Oh,  _no._ Now there's  _two_ of you."  

"Ho-kay!" her mom is saying. She's finished setting up all the little  _banchan_ dishes on the coffee table. Some of it looks pretty okay. Her mom didn't cook any of it, of course - it's all Ms. Park's, who loves  _gochujang_ with a passion - it's just tradition to leave out fingerfoods for the book club ladies (now +2 jumbo-size men). It's also tradition for most of it to be fermented, spicy vegetables.

Dean is looking at the side-dishes like they're going to bite him. She doesn't blame him. 

"There are peanut M&Ms in the side-drawer," she informs him, and gets them out.

" _My savior."_

"Let's get into it," her mom is saying over her. "Who wants to talk about  _The Secret History?"_

Yuna is impressed. They are actually talking about books. Usually at this point Ms. Bole and Elizabeth-The-Babysitter have wandered off into the kitchen along with the three youngest members of the church group to get drunk, the aunties are badgering her mother about getting a boyfriend, and the elderly ladies are griping about their grandchildren in English that ranges from fluent to nigh-incomprehensible.  

But today is different. Today, there is Sam and Dean, and the Unofficial Official Willow Book Club is going to talk about books. 

One of the church ladies coughs into her hand. "I, um - the main character. He's very, uh, interesting."

"Except he's not the focus of the book, and I think that's fascinating," Sam says, and everyone swivels to look at him. "He narrates, but I wouldn't call him the 'main character'. The attention is on the other members of the group, he's just a stand-in for the reader."

"He's equally important, though," says someone else, and they're off arguing about books. At book club.

Sam's enthusiasm is catching. Mostly everyone seems to have actually read the book, so they're more than capable to enter the discussion. And they're having  _fun_. There is a lot of scolding and laughter and page-referencing, and dangerous overzealous coffee-mug-gesturing, and Yuna's mom looks contrite but also bemused. Sam has gotten into a passionate argument over the relevance of Grecian symbolism with a middle-aged church lady with a perm and thick reading glasses. Dean is eating M &Ms by the fistful. 

Yuna tugs his sleeve. "Dean. Come watch Spongebob." 

"Gladly," Dean says, and they do until Sam pokes his head in the door a couple hours later.

"Hey, uh," he says, and Dean's up and at him in a second.

"You good?" Dean asks. 

" _Yes,_ Dean," Sam says. "Everyone's leaving, though. Sorry to break up your think-tank."

"Spongebob is meant for adults, too," Dean says. He seems offended. "It's got jokes for - "

"Yeah, sure, it's the Joseph Hellerof cartoons. C'mon, dude, I'm hungry. Joo-Eun's given us leftover pie."

"You should've said. Let's go, big guy. Night, Yuna," he adds, and waves at her. She smiles and waves back.   

They wander away, Dean's voice fading down the hallway. 

"What is _this?_ Is that a  _phone number?_ Jesus fucking Christ, dude."  

Sam is a regular at book club after.

 

She's noticed a strange pattern with her mother: as Sam gets better, her mother gets twitchier and twitchier. Also, she's smoking again (the church ladies scold her for this with vigor) which she hasn't done for years. Yuna doesn't mind, though. When she smells the smoke caught in the sofa and the carpet, her brain says, _home._  

But even though Yuna likes the smell, it still indicates that _something's_ off with her mother. She locks all the doors and windows at night now and makes sure to sweep their curtains shut before she goes to bed, like she's afraid to let the night inside. She has tense, quiet conversations in the kitchen with Ms. Bole that peter off whenever Yuna wanders by, and Yuna finds a pocketknife tucked in her purse (actually, that has been there for a while, but now it's placed in an easy-to-access spot and not sifting around with the lipstick/pens/notes/change slush that builds up in every purse ever, where it used to be).

Yuna's on the alert but she doesn't notice anything out of place. Everyone else seems just fine: the book club ladies (+ 2 men) aren't feuding, Emily from two houses down is being nice to her for a change, Dean is plying her with home-baked goodies (recipes courtesy of her mom) and Sam's getting into watercolors. It's summer and warm and good and sweet and she wants it to last forever.


	2. Chapter 2

When she gets home from church on Sunday there is a scruffy hobo sitting on Dean's porch. Yuna's mom pulls up to the curb and rolls down her window, but she doesn't unlock the car doors.

"Are you okay?" she asks him. Yuna is trying madly to see over her mom's shoulders from the passenger seat.

"Yes, thank you," the stranger says, and woah, his voice gives Dean's a run for its money. Maybe he's sick, too. (Is he another brother? She wouldn't mind another brother.)

"Are you. Uh. Are you looking for someone?"

"Yes," he says. Yuna's mom is fidgeting in her seat. "Could you tell me when Sam and Dean might get home?"

"They're out shopping," she says, brisk. "You might have to wait a while."

The windows are rolled up. The car skates across the road.

When they get inside their own house Yuna's mom opens up her cell phone and dials right away.

"Mom, are you - ?"

"Shh. Hi, Dean? Yes, it's Joo-Eun. No, I'm fine, really, there's just - well, there might be an emergency, actually, we're not sure. There's this guy on your porch, and he's asking for you and your brother, and I don't know - no, he hasn't attacked anyone, Lord. He's just a little. Uh. Dirty? I wanted to make sure - oh. Yeah. Black hair, really blue eyes, tan coat?"

Dean yells "what" and then "sonuvabitch" loud enough that Yuna can hear it through the phone's teeny speaker. Her mom's eyebrows shoot all the way up her forehead.

"Should I call the police? Dean? The police - okay, no I won't, don't worry. I'll - okay. Bye?"

She puts the phone back into her pocket, shrugs, and gives Yuna a look that says I know about as much as you do.

They wait together by the front window.

 

It isn't too long before Dean's beastly car tears down the road and shrieks into his own driveway. The passenger door flies open and Dean is lurching out, hair wild, and then he's spritzing the hobo with - water? something clear - from a bottle before he can even stand up all the way and Dean's mouth goes slack and they smash into a hug that nearly sends them both tumbling into the garden.

"Huh," says Yuna's mom, and Yuna has to agree.

And then Dean's shoving the new guy off him, two hands right to the chest, and this time he really does fall into the garden, right on top of a bunch of baby daisies Dean had planted a couple weeks ago. He sits there looking rumpled and pathetic and Dean is yelling and yelling and the hobo is yelling too now, mouth an angry pink gash in his dark-furred face. Sam has gotten out of the car at this point and is standing with it between him and the argument, looking perturbed.

The hobo gets up. More yelling, and then - jeez, more hugging, who the heck is this guy? They shove and stumble up the steps and into the house. Dean's got a hand fisted in the guy's ratty tan trench coat, and the door slams shut behind them.

Sam stares and blinks for a while - "mom, is he okay? should we go talk to him?" - and then rolls his eyes, shrugs, and wanders into the house.

"Well then," Yuna's mom says.

"Yeah," says Yuna.

 

The next time she sees the hobo he is looks a lot less hobo-y. He's gotten a shave and a haircut and he's wearing a t-shirt that she knows she's seen Dean wear in the past, as well as jeans that are way too long for him. He is still a little off-putting. He moves wrong, like he's not used to his own skin, overcompensating and jerky because of it. Everything about him is tentative and questioning.

"Hi, Yuna," Dean says. He's smiling but it's one of his fake smiles, the ones he puts on when Sam's been having a bad day but he doesn't want anyone to worry about it.

"Hi," she says. "I made you and Sam bracelets in Sunday school. They've got your names on them."

He takes his from her outstretched hand. "Neat, thanks," he says, and he's wearing a genuine smile. "I like the blue. And the fish."

"The fish stand for Jesus," she tells him. "I dunno why but they're cute, anyway, so I left 'em in."

"The 'fish' is a play on the acronym Ichthus, actually," the less-hobo-y hobo says. "Greek for Iesous Christos - "

"Ho-kay, Cas!" Dean says really loud, and his fake-sad-Sam-smile is back in place. "That's neat and all, but not the time and place, buddy."

"I am not your 'buddy'."

"Sure you are. Cas, you remember me mentioning Yuna before, right? She lives right across the street."

Cas blinks at her. "Hello," he says. "Yuna. I am Castiel, angel - "

"Angel food cake maker extraordinaire, that's right! He's a chef and a half."

"Dean, you know that is not what I was going to say - "

"How 'bout you come by later, Yuna," Dean says, scooting Castiel, Angel Food Cake Maker Extraordinaire, toward the backyard. "Cas is a little - stop that, you dick - "

Yuna knows a lost cause when she sees one and goes off to find Sam instead, to give him his bracelet.

He's in the living room, cross-legged beneath the coffee table. It looks especially silly in comparison to him, like flimsy dollhouse furniture. He is reading from a dusky tome, scribbling notes into the margins with a pen.

"Hi, Sam. What're you reading?"

"Nothing interesting," Sam says, closing the volume. This is absolutely a lie because the title is in no language she recognizes, and that can only mean adventure.

"What language is that?" she asks him. "Can you read it?

"It's Greek, and yes, I can."

"Cas can speak Greek."

"I bet he can," Sam says. "Look, Yuna - "

"I made you a bracelet!" she announces, because it's way more important than whatever nonsense he's about to spout. "Give me your wrist. I made it extra big, because you're extra big."

"Thanks, Yuna," he says, holding it up to the light. "It's very pretty." He gives her a warm, rare, Sam-smile, dimples and all, and she grins right back at him. She likes when Sam is happy. He should be happy more often.

"I made it pink 'cuz I asked Dean and he said you liked pink best," she informs him.

"Of course he did," Sam says, and his smile is fond. "Of course."

 

The next day, when Yuna goes to find Dean, Cas is sitting on the porch with his face in his hands.

"Heya, Cas," she says, and he looks up. His face is puffy and red like a tomato but she doesn't giggle because that would be very, very rude.

"I think I'm having a moment," Cas informs her.

She plops down beside him and presents him with a dandelion she'd picked earlier. He looks affronted.

"My understanding," he says, "is that these sorts of things are done alone."

She shrugs. "My mom tells me it's better to be with someone when you're sad."

"I'm not sad."

She stares at him pointedly.

"...Maybe I'm sad."

"How come?" she asks.

"I'm human," he says.

"Me, too," she informs him. "It's okay, though."

Cas hiccups. "How do you do it?" he asks her. "How do you tolerate being so - weak? So vulnerable?"

"I'm not weak," she says. "I can move a coffee table all by myself."

"That is less than impressive," he says. "I could level a building. I could sieve through time and see into the fourth dimension."

"Why would you wanna do that?"

"It's not about wanting anything, it's about - who I am," he says.

"Who you are is blowing up buildings?"

"Who I am is more than - this," he says, indicating himself. "This is pathetic."

"S'not pathetic," she says. "'S just who you are. My mom says you gotta make do with the talents God's given you. I wish I was smart at math, and faster at running, but I'm not. And that's okay 'cuz there are a bunch of other things I can do just fine."

"The 'talents God's given you'?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You're so small," he marvels. "But you're already better at this than I am, aren't you."

Yuna hates it when grown-ups call her small - she's taller than almost everyone in her class, including the boys, so there - but she is the epitome of tact and good grace and doesn't say a single thing.

"I promise it'll be okay," she says, and tucks her dandelion behind his ear.

 

Ever so often, Castiel becomes a third in their playdates. He mostly behaves himself, except for The Trouble Incident, after which they had to ban board games altogether. Yuna doesn't mind this much at all because Dean always, _always_ cheats. She didn't know it was even possible to cheat at Candyland but Dean manages it a-okay.   

When her mom notices Castiel's joined them, she's less than thrilled.

"He's just creepy, Yuna," she says. "I don't like you being with him."

"He's not," Yuna says. "He's just sad. And lonely. And he doesn't know how to be a person yet."

This appears to be the wrong answer. "Just - just stay outside, okay? And make sure Dean's always there."

"Okay, mom," she agrees, and that's pretty much the end of it.

 

Emily thinks it's weird that she's spending so much time with the guys next door instead of her and Rachel and Leo. Really, though, it's not strange at all. Sam and Dean are really funny, and they teach her card tricks and sometimes they swear, and they let her paint on the walls that one time. Also, she feels like she and Sam share a common experience - her with Eric, him with supervillains - and she feels like that's kinda special.  _Also_ , also, neither Emily, Rachel, or Leo have ever saved the world.

"Last summer you were at my house  _every day,"_ Emily says. 

"And now it's _this_ summer," Yuna reminds her. 

"My mom says your mom's irresponsible 'cuz she lets you play around with three grown men all the time."

"My mom is _very_ responsible. She's head of book club." 

"That doesn't count," Emily says. "Book club's stupid. And so is Sam. He's so stupid he couldn't even talk when he got here - " 

Rachel has to pull them apart. Yuna's got a few wisps of of blonde hair in her fist, no longer attached, and Emily has bruises on her legs and butt.

"There's something  _wrong_ with you," Emily calls back as Rachel pulls her back into the house. "You're a freak and those brothers are freaks and - " 

The door slams shut. Yuna goes to play with Sam.  

 

"So there's a second potluck," Yuna's mom informs Dean over the mailbox. Dean makes a noise like a deflating balloon.

Sam cackles in delight from the porch, where he's painting landscapes with Yuna. "I'd love to go, Ms. Moon."

"Of course you would," Dean mutters.

Yuna's mom scowls.

"And! So would I!" he adds quickly. "It's just that, with Cas..."

"We have to potty train him," Sam says. He looks very serious.

"Sam. Not helpful."

"Bring soda pop and beer, if you don't want to cook," her mother advises. "I'll see you there."

"Your mother is terrifying," Dean says, once she's gone.

"I know," Yuna says.

 

They show up at the potluck. All three of them.

"Oh! Cas," her mother says. "I... wasn't expecting you."

"I wasn't expecting me, either," Cas says, and Dean smiles at him like a proud parent.

"Cas wants to be part of the neighborhood," Dean explains. "Since he's stuck here and all."

"Yes," Cas says. "I... want to be part of the neighborhood."

"The whole shebang," Dean says.

"Dean, I do not think - "

"Let's go get some ribs, Cas."

They wander off. Sam is looking despondent and nervous so she latches on to his leg. "Carry me," she demands. He smiles and swings her up onto his shoulders.

They wander around for a little bit, avoiding gossipy church ladies and grazing off the buffet. Yuna directs Sam which desserts to grab, and he passes them up to her. They make a very good team.

"You don't wanna go play with your friends?" Sam suggests, and points over to a group of little kids.

"No," Yuna says. "Emily's mean. 'Sides, you're my friend."

"But you're so he-aaavyyy," Sam complains. He pretends to teeter over, his hands firm around her ankles.

Dean is there at his elbow like magic. "You okay there, dude?"

"Dean. I don't need a babysitter."

"I'm just worried, man."

"Leave it," Sam snaps. He's getting loud. People are looking. "I'm fine."

"You are _not fine_. You spent four months - "

" _Dean._ " Cas says, appearing at Dean's side. "I would like to sample the potato salad."

Dean frowns one last time in Sam's direction. "Yeah, sure, Cas," he says, and they wander off.

Sam huffs. "I love the kid, but man," he says. "Sometimes..."

Yuna pets his hair. "He loves you too," she says. "Maybe too much. Can I give you braids? You'd look really cute with braids."

"I look really cute now," he grouses, and they go and sit in the grass and she braids daisies into his hair. She is right: he does look really cute.

 

There are a ton of leftovers from the potluck. Even though it's getting dark her mom makes Yuna run over to Dean's with a huge pile of extras in warm Tupperware, because, she says, Cas is too skinny. She also asks her to figure out what Cas' favorite dessert is, and that's as good as a signed-and-stamped declaration of alliance.

They are not in the front yard so she circles around to the back. "I have leftovers for you," she announces as she rounds the corner. 

Dean and Cas jump away from each other, pull their hands tight to their sides. Dean's eyes are huge and round. 

"Uh," he says.  

"Leftovers," she says. "From the potluck. There's potatoes and corn and ribs. Were you hugging?"

" _No,"_ says Dean. "We were - . Uh. Isn't it your bedtime?"

"Mom sent me," Yuna says. "She also wants to know what Cas' favorite dessert is." 

"Pie," says Dean. "Brownies," Cas says at the same time.

"Which do you - ?"  

"Really, Yuna," Dean interrupts. " _Get_."

She wanders away. 

"Jesus fucking Christ," she hears Dean growl behind her.

She wanders faster.  

At home she thinks she sees a face in the living room window, but no, that's got to be wrong. She's just a little jumpy. It happens, sometimes, especially since Eric - startling at trash moving in her periphery, animals, loud noises. She ignores it and goes to bed.

 

Yuna's mom makes brownies _and_ pie for Cas. Cas confirms he likes brownies better and Dean calls him a despicable traitor. 

"I am a traitor, though," Cas says. "For you."

Dean goes misty-eyed. Sam pretends to throw up. Yuna's mom gives all three of them a secret, knowing smile. 

They continue to experiment with different recipes, nothing fancy or too complicated, but Dean _oooh_ s and  _aah_ s at the results all the same. They can't eat everything they make - there's just  _so much_ \- so she gives the batches that don't come out quite right to Emily as a peace offering, and over these a tentative truce is formed. They discover Sam can give  _both_ Emily _and_ Yuna piggyback rides at the same time.

"Told you," Yuna says after, and Emily grudgingly agrees that yes, fine, Sam is pretty okay. ("Only _pretty_ okay?" Yuna needles. "He's very sweaty," says Emily.)

Outside their cooking adventures Yuna is spending more and more time with Sam because Dean and Castiel are always off together doing things.

At first she feels excluded. "Where _are_ they?" she asks Sam. 

"Uh. In the house," Sam says.

"Why can't I go find them? I'm going to go find them."

"No. No _no no_ hang on they're busy - " 

"Doing _what?"_

"Uh."

"Oh my God they're _kissing aren't they,"_ Yuna says.

"That's not - . They could be painting. Or cooking. Or something."

Yuna ignores him because she is a genius. "I think I caught them making out after the potluck," she whispers to Sam.

" _Let's go play with your wagon,"_ Sam says. "I'll push you around."

"But _kissing - "_

" _There is no kissing._ C'mon. Wagon. Let's go." 

 

In between cartoons there are advertisements for school supplies on the screen. She pretends to ignore them.

It's not like she dislikes school. She's not like Leo, who has to repeat second grade and still cries about going like a baby. She _likes_ Earth Science and Reading Group and even the big thick grammar workbooks they use for homework.

But she also likes _this._ She likes warmth curling lazy around her body, dry reeds scratching her legs and arms, heavy, heady air that tastes like flower petals. She likes dinners outside in the dark and musky sun-baked dirt on her clothes and sandals that slap against the soles of her feet when she runs. She especially likes her friends, both big and little, hurt and whole.

It is still summer. There is still precious time for her to spend and she is starving for it, even though she feels she ought to be content with what she has. After it's all over she'll cup her hands to catch the honeyed warmth of the past two months and press it into her heart and keep it there. There is room. There is so much room.

Once or twice she thinks she sees a large black van lurking at the end of the street, but it's got to be nothing, because whenever she turns to look it's gone. Her mom chain-smokes cigarettes and watches soaps.

 

Before the summer runs out she inevitably catches Dean and Castiel kissing in their living room. She is not even a little bit surprised.

They're very caught up in each other. They don't even notice her coming in until she says, "I would like a glass of water, please," and then they're springing apart just like the time before.            

Once he's crab-walked a safe distance from Cas Dean freezes in place, muscles taught with horror.  Castiel gapes at her and then turns to Dean for support and his face crumples when he realizes there is none forthcoming.

"Uh," he says. "Sometimes... sometimes. There is an, um, attraction - ." 

"Noooooo," says Dean softly. Castiel soldiers on.

"-  _There is an attraction_ between two people with the same, um, of the same gender, and. They. Uh."

"Are you two dating?" Yuna asks.

"Uh. Yes?" Castiel says, and the horror on Dean's face melts into a delighted smile.

"Thought so _,"_ Yuna says. She stomps off to find Emily.  

 

School begins in three days.

Dean and Yuna and her mom are baking in the kitchen, pie for Dean and chocolate cake for Cas and oatmeal raisin cookies for Sam. Cas has bowed out due to embarrassment because last time he drank nearly half a bottle of vanilla extract ("it _said_ it was  _vanilla,")_ and regurgitated all of it immediately. The kitchen is much easier to navigate with only the three of them. 

Dean refuses to help with the cookies because they are gross and not even real cookies. He does help with the cake ("for your boooooyfriend," Yuna's mom says, and Dean throws raisins at her), and he monopolizes the pie filling, lording over it like he's an expert. 

It looks pretty good, actually. Apple, with lots of cinnamon and sugar. She'd like to steal a piece but Dean has some sort of sixth pie-sense because every time she gets her hands near the bowl Dean will say "don't even think about it," even if his back is turned and he's busy talking, and he bonks her on the hand with the cake spoon (not hard or anything, just enough to make her squeal and wiggle back over to the cookies).

There's a near-complete pie on the counter and two sheets worth of cookies when her mom turns, gasps, and drops the bowl of cake mix. It splatters, wet, over the floor and cabinets and their legs.

"Eep," says Yuna, dancing away from the mess.

Dean snaps around in a crouch, quick as a cat. "Who - " he begins to say, and then the large window into the kitchen explodes inward. A man comes after, elbow- first.

Yuna's breath catches in her throat.  _No. Not - no._

He is broad and pale and sickeningly familiar. He lands on his feet with a grace that contradicts his bulk.Under the thin skin of his forehead she can see wormy blue veins.

She brings her hands up to shield her face.

"You remember," Eric says, pasty lips canting into a rictus smile. "Glad to see it, darlin'."

"No," her mom hisses. "I will not have you in this house. Do you hear me? I will not."

"I don't hafta listen to you, bitch," Eric says. "I'm not playing by your rules anymore."

He smiles and there are his teeth, chipped and yellow, and then there are more teeth, descending, needle sharp, and Yuna is gripped with an animal terror. Behind her eyes there are bottles breaking and bruises.

"Go," Dean yells, and breaks the spell. She goes, sprinting down the hallway and into her mom's room because that is safety and warmth. She dives under the bed and scoots around on her belly and her mom  _isn't there._ She was right behind only a second ago, right behind in the kitchen in her cherry-print apron, the bead necklace Yuna'd made for her, the stove on. Mom,  _mom, mom -_ it's right at her lips but her voice isn't working anymore and she can't call out, she can't, _mom_. 

There is a hair-raising howl, shrill and inhuman but still so recognizably Eric's voice that it's not even a stretch to imagine it tearing out of him. Glass breaks. Her mom screams. She didn't want to hear that ever, not again, but there it is, bottles, bruises, the underside of the old coffee table.

Her mom stops screaming.

Dean smashes into the door frame into her mom's room, coughs, gets up. The wall is cracked.  

He sees her under the bed right away. "Close your eyes," he says. "Whatever you do, don't look. Keep your eyes shut tight and don't look."

_Mom,_ she wants to say. _Where is my mother is she okay Dean please._ But her voice is broken and all she can do is stare.

"It's gonna be okay. You just gotta shut your eyes for me, huh?"

She nods tearfully and covers her eyes with her palms.

"That's a good girl. Don't move. Stay right there - ."

As soon as he's turned his back she peeks over her fingers and watches him brace himself just outside of the doorway. From the holster in his thigh he draws a huge, wicked-looking knife with a thick, glistening steel blade, bigger and sharper than any knife she's ever seen before. Did he bring it for cooking? He must've brought it for cooking. He holds it ready close to his body. Eric howls a second time.

"Come at me, fucker," Dean snarls.

Eric hurtles by the doorway, a blur of color and fury, and slams Dean clean across the midsection with his shoulders like a linebacker. Dean goes down with a breathy _oof_. His knife clatters out of his hand and slides across the floor, and Dean looks like he's going to laugh and cry all at once.

There is a moment of _no, no, no_ when Eric's got Dean on the ground and his teeth, his teeth like a deep-sea creature's, like bristles on a toothbrush, sliding out from his face and frothing and so close to Dean's face. So close. Eric is gnashing and tearing at Dean's forearms and there's blood, there's blood in Eric's mouth and on his chin, and all over Dean, and Dean keeps squirming and pushing Eric's face away from his neck, Eric's teeth, his teeth -

She is frozen still. _I'm going to die_ , she thinks, watching Dean push back the best he can, slippery with his own blood. _I haven't become a doctor yet_.  _I hope it doesn't make mom sad. I hope she's okay._

Dean grabs the knife.

The noise it makes when it goes through Eric's neck is fleshy and wrong. There is an absolute fountain of blood all over Dean and the doorway and the cream carpet. Her mom will probably be upset over that. The head bounces a little and rolls to a stop underneath the nightstand.

And then she starts screaming.

 

Dean is hunched over and panting and he's got his shredded arms wrapped around his torso like he's holding it in, so it's pretty easy to ignore his commands to stay put and slide right past him. 

Her mom is face-down, leaking red onto the kitchen floor - not as much as Eric, but still a pretty good amount.

"Mom  _mom mom - "_ she finally says and slides over to her on her knees. There is blood all up her front - Dean's and Eric's and her mom's - but she doesn't care because her mom's pale and getting paler.

Dean looks torn, but only for a moment. His face sets: he's made his decision. 

"Press down hard as you can with this," he says, handing her a towel. "Right here. I'm gonna call 911, okay?  _Don't move."_

She presses down and doesn't look up. She watches her mother's rib cage expand and contract to accommodate her labored breathing. She is blowing bubbles in her own blood.

But she's breathing which means she's okay, she's fine, she'll get up in a second. There will be an ambulance and bandages and her mom will stand up and reach her arms out so they can hug. 

Except then she isn't breathing, no bubbles in the blood, and she doesn't hear the ambulance arrive but it must've because there's a lady EMT prying her off forcefully and carrying her out into the humid air. 

"Stay," the lady says, and sets her down on the porch. She is sticky with blood and shivering even though it's hot outside, oily-wet, the worst kind, leeching sweat off her skin and fogging her lungs.

She hears a car door open off in the distance and she knows what it means without having to think. In her head she apologizes to the lady EMT and bolts across the street. 

Sam and Castiel are already inside the car. Cas looks nervous, Sam looks bored. She grabs Dean's shirt before he can swing in.    

"We gotta go, kiddo," Dean says, hefting his duffle.

"I don't want you to go."

"I don't want me to go either. But I have to."

"How come? You saved Mom and me!"

"They'll think I murdered that guy." 

"But you - " 

"They won't believe you, sweetheart."

"But it's not true - !"

Dean sighs. "That don't matter. You follow along with your momma. Agree with what she says. Y'hear me?"

"I hear you," Yuna says.

"Good," Dean says. "And - Yuna. Look out for yourself, okay?"

She nods. "If anyone like Eric comes after me I'll cut his head off."

"Good girl," Dean says. She steps back so he can close the door.

She doesn't get to see them go. An EMT snags her arm and loads her onto the ambulance with her mother, who is lying on a white board and nearly smothered in tubing, but her eyes are open and she smiles when she sees her daughter.

"She'll be fine, she just needs some stitches," the lady EMT tells her, and the relief that bursts in her chest almost knocks her sideways. Before the back of the ambulance slams shut she lets her eyes track up horizon and into the sky, where the sun is still eager on clean wispy clouds, and thinks Cas was wrong about being human. The world is huge, and so are the people in it. Dean is huge. Sam is huge. She's huge, too. She's alive and strong and human and she's gonna be as big and bright as the rest of them.

Okay.

Here we go.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case anyone is curious here is a snapshot of my very professional story-plotting techniques you are welcome -- > [](http://imgur.com/plte6Zz)


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